A Galaxy With Guts
by Zhelezo
Summary: Order 66 is in full swing! The Jedi are all but eliminated! But in the darkest corner of the galaxy, the secret shame of the Jedi Order lies in wait. The Empire barely knows of his existence. They believe the rumors are just that... Rumors. Now a demon has been awakened. Because this Jedi, a man named Mot Fesif, once went by the name of Guts.
1. Chapter 1

In case nobody has realized this yet, I like writing strange things. The ideas that haven't been done before (or at least, not well) are ideas that excite the creative spirit inside my mind. They make me want to write grand epics of phenomenal length.

This is one such idea. A single scene sparked the idea, and once I had seen it, I knew I had to write it. This is the first scene of the story, and one I hope all of you enjoy as much as I do.

I do not own any of the properties mentioned in this story. I'd tell you what they were, but that would spoil all the fun!

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The silver holo-disk sat on the table, and a shimmering blue hooded figure appeared on it. His voice was raspy and weak, as if he had just been through a horrific experience… Or taken several thousand volts to the face. Either or.

Behind the disk, a pair of Red-Robed honor guard. Pristine warriors in service to Emperor Palpatine himself. They were there to ensure the message was followed. On a frontier planet like this, the clones were less loyal to their programming. The Jedi master serving here was unorthodox in the highest degree, he may even be capable of stopping the Emperor's plan, were he allowed to survive the coming event.

"Execute Order, Sixty-Six." The hologram said, before fizzing out. With the order delivered, the clone commander who had received it, knew he had only five minutes before the emperor attacked the Jedi at their deepest level. That would be the perfect time to strike.

Clone Commander Ves had… Misgivings about this mission. He looked at the Honor guards, and their sleek face plates. "This is a mistake." Their fingers twitched on their ceremonial steel fighting staves, and he knew that if they deemed him a traitor he would not be leaving this tent alive.

He held up his hands, begging for a chance to explain his words. "Please! Just listen to me. This is dangerous. The other Jedi are nothing compared to him. You haven't seen him fight. You haven't seen him around the clones. He doesn't trust any of us! There will be no chance to defeat him! But if we can wait… Somehow lure him off-world, then we can flush him out of an air lock! We have to wait."

The lead guard stepped forward, tapping his fighting stave on the ground. "Your orders are given Captain. Will you reject them? What is your one and only purpose?"

Ves looked at his feet, and closed his eyes. They would not listen. They would make him take up arms against the General. They could never understand, how could they? The General was not a being that could be understood, only avoided. That man was a force of nature.

Finally he looked up, staring straight at the Honor Guard. There was only one option here, and he knew it. Perhaps some of his men would survive. "My duty is to the Republic! I have sworn to defend it with all I have, protecting it until my dying breath! Never shall I falter in this. Never shall I fail. And by my hand, I will do all that I can, even if it means death." He said the words with nothing less than the utmost conviction, slapping a hand to the side of his blaster. For a moment he felt a flush of pride, before he yanked the blaster pistol out of its sheath and raised it.

The Royal Guard rushed forward, going for disabling strikes before he could fire, sidestepping the path of the blaster with the practiced precision of elite soldiers.

But his gun swept upwards, finally stopping beneath his chin. "FOR THE REPUBLIC!" Commander Ves cheered loudly, before he fired the blaster through the thin film of armor beneath the helmet, scrambling his brains.

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Outside the command tent, a man sat in the grass. In one hand he held a sword of dark black metal, it's edge barely there, more of a slope in the metal than an honest point. Silver script travelled down the blade, the name of the sword that struck terror through a dozen different cultures. Twin lightsaber emitters lay next to either edge.

The "Mercenary" A blade to be feared by any who saw it. The only more fearsome sight was it's wielder, Mot Fesif. A name unknown in the civilized worlds, but feared throughout the Separatist worlds. The World Devouring Blade. The Monster of the Jedi Order. The Dark Side of the Force. The most feared man in the history of the republic had obtained many monikers. Not that someone like Palpatine ever paid any attention to such trivial details. Not that he was even allowed to hear about the secret shame of the Jedi order.

Mot lay back on blue-grey grass, taking in the alien world. He chewed a stick of some kind, and each chew softened the bark, releasing pleasantly sweet sap. A clone's yell broke the silence, and a single blaster shot brought the silence back.

He gave the branch another curious chew, then spat it out, tired of the overly sweet sap. One hand on his sword and the other on the set of daggers he kept on his hip, Mot stood up and decided that he had better investigate.

Truth was, he had grown bored of the war. The Separatists were proving too easy to defeat. You could only smash so many battle droids before it all just grew… Boring. None of the Separatists could match him in combat, they lacked the professional fighters to even slow him down.

For the first time in his life. Gut's was tired of war. He only wished he could feel the thrill of cutting through meat and bone again. In a justified war. Something with clear-cut good and bad sides. Where one side wouldn't simply surrender the second they saw him.

Two red-robed warriors left the nearest tent, running towards him with the loping grace of skilled fighters. Their weapons were held opposite each other, one in a left handed high grip, the other in a right handed low to the ground stance. These men had clearly trained side by side for years to achieve this grace in combat. Most warriors would be instantly overwhelmed by the opposing fighting stances, unable to block an attack from the upper right and the lower left simultaneously.

Guts smiled, now this was more like it! He didn't know who these guys were, but this was a fight he could get excited about! Fortunately, his strategy had always revolved around "The best defense is a crushing offense" and he swung the flat of his sword in a sweeping forward arc.

The Guard on the right, the left-handed one, blocked with expert precision as his partner moved in for a killing blow. It was a move that could kill any opponent, the perfect defense, and the perfect offense. A block, and a parry at the same time. Together, they had killed assassins, bounty hunters, even a Dark Jedi.

Except… They had never fought Mot Fesis before. They had heard of him, through a few scattered channels, but no major news. They thought he was just another Jedi. A skilled swordsmaster, easily overwhelmed If he could not tap into the force. An easy target.

Then his sword shattered the blocking staff into six separate pieces, slamming into the Red Guard a moment later and sending him skipping off the ground like a demented rag doll, his chest armor violently caved in and blood oozing from every crack in the solid red chestplate. Mot Fesis… Guts… Felt a furor run through his blood. It was magnificent.

Guts stepped forward, taking a solid hit to the ribs from the base of the fighting staff. Yowch. That was gonna bruise. Even though he had stepped in, dodging the tip of the heavy metal stick, the sheer power this Guardsman brought to bear was impressive. Against a normal man, the blow would have fractured a rib or two. But again, it was only a strike from the first inch of two of metal past the grip.

Guts replied by dropping his sword, and grabbing the thin metal stick in one hand, and the head of the Royal Guard in his other. "It's been too long since I got to fight all-out. Whoever you are… Well, I'd say thanks for giving me a whole new fight to play with, but honestly I don't think you'll care in a second."

He shook the mans head back and forth, violently tossing his head around inside the hard metal case. When he threw him to the floor, the Guard had to pause to catch his breath. But Guts was already holding the metal staff. He swung it, and this time the hard metal tip connected with its target. There was a crash, and a snap, pretty much at the same time as momentum broke the face-screen of the helmet -throwing glass into unprotected eyes- and the force of the impact jarred the head backwards, snapping the neck instantly.

How the man died was anyone's guess. Guts didn't really care. He had more entertaining concerns. His clones were coming out, looking over the fight. Some had sad eyes, knowing what must have happened. Others looked angry. Guts just picked up his sword and grinned.

The lightsaber along each blade flared to life, and he looked over the assembled troops. "One of two things are going to happen here. You're going to tell me who these fuckers are. Or I'm going to carve you into itty-bitty pieces until somebody tells me." His grin curled into a feral sneer, "Which poor bastard is first?"

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Yes, you have read that right! BERZERK meets Star Wars! Woot woot!


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Looking forward to this! Short chapters, lots of action, and starring all yalls favorite action hero, GUTS.

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"Hey you. You know where the Goblin is?"

Wa'hett was a broken man. Once a Jedi Knight, the months following Order 66 had left him a shell of his former self. His last attempt at using a lightsaber was in a life or death fight with an aggressive flyer after a night of drinking. The empire had arrested him two weeks ago. He wasn't even important enough to warrant a shuttle back to Coruscent for his ritual execution. Talk about a low blow.

Oh they had still tortured him. His entire body was a mass of bruises and cuts from clones who were all too happy to play interrogator. Once they realized he couldn't use the force, they tore into him like rabid animals.

He hadn't touched the force in months, but even without his invitation it still touched him. Wa'hett had been a Jedi for too long to simply shut it off. It was a part of him. A part that was beaten, bloody, and broken. His wounds didn't hurt as much when he could feel the weeping wound inside of him.

"F-fuck you. I told yous… I don know nuthin." He managed to spit that much out at least. A last token of desperate pride from a broken man. His spit felt full of darkness. He was happy to have it out of his mouth. Everything in his body felt tainted by the force.

He could remember feeling it for the first time as a child. Like waves of air, crashing against his skin. It enveloped him. He poured his emotions into it during countless hours of meditation, and from time to time it responded. The gentle touch of winds unknown, guiding him to his destination. Now it was all so-

"Hey. I said, where's the goblin. Answer me." The sound of metal on metal came, a rhythmic repetitive drumming sound.

Wa'hett glared at the door, and the man he knew was behind it. Taunting him. He wanted to hop out of the cell, and send the man flying with a punch of solid force energy. Just like the good days. He would punch him, right in the helmet. Punch until the world slid back to how it was. Until using the force felt right again… Not like ten-thousand nails were slowly being driven into his body.

He imagined the ruff voiced clone trying to speak through a mouthful of blood and broken teeth, it was enough to make him smile. Wa'hett's fuzzy mind realized something then.

"Hey… W-wait." The man's voice was rough. Calloused even. No clone spoke like that. "Who are you?"

"What does it matter if you don't know where the goblin is?"

Wa'hett thumped his hand against the wall. "What is a goblin!? Ask me something I can answer! Just let me out!"

He flinched. The stranger was never going to let him out now. Not after that outburst. He was going to rot in this miserable little crate until the Sith pulled him apart.

The door opened, and a smiling face appeared in the shadows of a darkened hallway. In the shadow, the smile was not comforting. Not comforting at all…

"Kid, you just have to answer the right questions."

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"What are you saying? That an entire sector of loyal soldiers are goofing off at once? Or that they were all disposed of by some mystery assailant? An assailant who just HAPPENED to sneak aboard without anyone noticing, and silence each guard with near perfect precision, all on my personal ship? I will have you know, I was an Admiral when you were still in Bacta Tanks, and I will not put up with such nonsensical theories. Why, back in my day entire sectors used to go dark for minutes at a time. They always come back online eventually. Send another message in fifteen minutes time, and then come tell me when I'm right."

Admiral Toyane sat in his bridge chair, looking around at the endless expanse of stars. Why did they have to make things so difficult? He was the Emperors personal diplomat, a man who had known the Emperor for decades. A man who knew which people to cozy up to, to rise from the humble beginnings of a day laborers son to one of the most powerful admirals in the Empire.

Why, no less than three Star Destroyers followed him wherever he went. His arrival alone had heralded the end to dozens of upstart civil wars. He was a hero. He was even delivering a captured Jedi to Emperor Palpatine, a worthy gift to be sure!

He looked over the men on the command deck with a scrutinous eye. Enlisted men were always lazy. Even back in his day. Clones were just lazy at the same time. Ridiculous, the lack of discipline they showed. As an Admiral, he took great pride in the behavior of his clones, far superior to any other batch. His were trained to stay focused, and woe upon the man who's eyes strayed from his designated screen.

"Where are those men? Lousy clones. Always so sloppy. In my day we would have fired them for any slacking. No, they think they've got job security! They think I won't leave them at the next planet, hah! Dally around on MY ship will they-"

"I don't think they're coming." A voice as course as gravel whispered In his ear, then a calloused hand grabbed the generals ear and sliced it clean off.

The middle-aged man screamed at the sudden and violent loss of his ear, but the sound was covered by the massive palm of his unknown attacker. "Kid, a closet. Find one." The attacker whispered to some unseen individual.

Admiral Toyane could only look at his Clones on the command deck, diligantly focused on their work. Oh how he wished one was slacking. Just one! If they looked over their shoulder for only a second they would see him as he was slowly dragged into the storage closet. The door slid shut without a sound, but the seal was soundproof.

Then he was spun around, pushed hard against a stack of cleaning supplies, and the bloody blade that severed his ear pressed hard against his throat. "So you're in command huh? I'm here for your access codes. Me and my pal here are stealing a shuttle. Try to threaten us, or hesitate for even a moment, and your balls are next. Give us the info, and you can leave. Just. Like. That."

Admiral Toyane was a man of principle. Bravery, loyalty, honor. He cried when he told them everything.

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Guts made his way to the access panel on the Admiral's chair. The Admiral himself only a few feet behind, held by the kid who's name he had already forgotten. If he ever heard it in the first place.

The Admiral might try to make a break for it. Sneaking by the kid Jedi was his best opportunity after all. But after seeing the grown man break down into tears before spilling some very deadly secrets, Guts was not expecting much bravery.

His smile grew again. Oh did he have a treat for them. He sat in the chair. He input the codes. And then he locked down every sector of the ship. The ear-less Admiral had been thorough.

With every sector locked down, Guts shut down every accessory access point. His fingers flew across the control pad. Just two final steps. He could see the Admiral starting to understand.

Communications cut out instantly, locking down any shipwide ability to communicate. It wouldn't matter in a moment. As the Admiral began to find a bit of fight, guts keyed a command sequence opening every door in the ship except for the command deck doors.

There were 52 commanders in the command deck. Seven were looking around in confusion. 45 were simply staring at their computers in a dazed shock, unable to comprehend what was happening around the ship.

Around the Star Destroyer Ravager, every door, every landing bay, every window, escape pod, everything, was opened to the naked vacuum of space. Almost fifty-thousand men were flushed out into the dark void. Oh sure, plenty hung on, staying inside the ship to the last possible moment. But Guts had no plans to ever close those doors again.

Some barricaded the doors. Some hung on for dear life. Some were in little broom closets where they were safe. The air ran out, room by room. The only place where air recyclers still worked was on the bridge.

Admiral Toyane dropped to his knees, no longer held up by the ex-prisoner Jedi. "Y-you said you were just going to leave… No…"

Wa'hett was looking around with tears in his eyes, captivated by the beauty of it all. 50,000 clones was a large number. Who knew how many had helped to kill his friends. As far as he cared, they could all go suck vacuum. Every last one of them. He felt a dark chill slither up his spine.

Guts laughed, a cold, cruel thing that drew the attention of every pair of eyes in the room. "It's war Admiral. People die." Before anyone could blink, a steel dagger found it's way across the room and into the Admirals throat.

Cold, animalistic eyes looked towards the surviving crew. "There are 52 of you. I only need one. First one to volunteer get's to live."

A fight broke out among them as they raced to be the survivor. Brother turned on brother, friend tore into friend. Men drew blasters on each other, but never once were they pointed at Guts.

It was as if none of them believed they could truly hurt him.

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Three Star Destroyers lay in the void, each floating lifelessly. Not a single sign of life came from any of them. The only life in this bland expanse of space, was a small transport shuttle that sped away from the ships as fast as they could.

"Should we really just leave them like that?" Wa'hett asked hesitantly. He couldn't tell if he was thinking of the ships or the corpses. It was one thing to hate your enemy. It was another thing to watch almost 200,000 lives snuffed out in an afternoon, with all the ease of hunting grass.

"It'll be fine. Those ships will never be used again. I stuck explosives in the fuel lines. Anyone trying to use them is going to loose half a ship and whatever repair deck they're trying to use."

"Oh."

"Now kid. I didn't bring you along for fun! Tell me where the damn goblin went."

"What. Is. A. Goblin." Wa'hett sighed into his hands. Free of prison, stuck with a madman.

Guts kicked back in the pilots chair. "You know, Goblin. Green thing. Short. Lot of jumping. Really respectable in your circles."

"By the force…" He hung his head and buried his face in his outstretched hands.

"So you know him? Do you know where he went?!"

"Why are you looking for Master Yoda?" Wa'hett trusted this man as much as you could trust someone who you had aided in becoming a mass murderer. But anyone asking about Yoda in these times was bad news, and there were more threats out there than just the empire. He pulled out his lightsaber, reclaimed in secret while Guts had been busy carving his way through a squad of guards, lighting it up with the familiar Emerald green. "If you are trying to hurt him. I-I'll kill you."

Guts just laughed and laughed and laughed.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

My god, honestly I never expected this story to be so popular! None of my other stories have ever gotten reviews six months after I stopped working on them. Frankly, those reviews have been an inspirational encouragement to continue.

Even you, the guy who said "It was pretty alright". Really that review never fails to make me laugh.

At any rate, you asked for it, so here you go! Chapter three is out, and chapter four will be along shortly.

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Kein Rost braced his arm against the palisade. He lifted his gun, and felt the energy rising through his body, spreading out like an ink stain in water. Then he pulled the trigger, and another clone hit the floor. A snarl crossed his reptilian face, and the Trandoshan turned to see his support crew.

Children, all of them! It was true that he was only in his fourteenth year of life, not even a man by his own people's standards, but these green children looked scared of their own weapons. The youngest, a pair of 12 year old twins, struggled under the weight of a repeating turret. They looked terrified of the hull-mounted turret that had already reduced a handful of stormtroopers to smoke and ash. Kein was about to snap at them, when a hand touched his.

He spun on the one who dared to touch him, only to see Viis. The only human in the galaxy that he could call friend, Viis stopped his angered outburst with but a gentle touch. The humans force sensitivity flowed like water droplets on the wind, and he calmed everyone in the area with his presence alone. His force spoke words to others, words of color and emotion, but words all the same.

'Calm yourself. Calm. Rage is weakness.' Kein turned away in frustration. At least the children were manning their turret once more, looks of grim determination on their face.

The battle had reached one of its lulls, and Viis hopped over the barricade. Still pouring that peaceful aura from his body, he approached the closest clone trooper who had only been injured during the fight. Clone Trooper armor was a masterpiece of modern warfare, capable of turning lethal laser shots into nothing more than a temporary case of stunning.

So Viis stuck a knife into the neck seal and twisted until hot red blood stained the floor. He dragged clone corpses back, two at a time. The ammo was valuable, and the armored bodies would make good temporary barricades. If only they had the time to strip the corpses, they would be much better off.

Through their communications, they heard Jedi Master Oskan Cil. He was the one who had rescued these force sensitive children, honing them into the blade they needed to be if they were to ensure the survival of the Jedi. Each of the children on this battlefield was there by choice and desire.

"We have confirmation children." His aged voice sounded tired. Almost beaten. "The Star Destroyer overhead is the Executor. The personal flagship of Darth Vader himself. I'm so sorry children. I'm so very sorry."

A voice crackled on the radio, "There is nothing to be sorry for Honored Master! You gave us something to believe in when the galactic empire stole it from us! You have given us a purpose, something great and beautiful to fight for. If we die, we will join you in the Force. But we will spill the blood of Darth Vader before this day ends!" Viis was amazed to recognize Kein's voice on the radio. "Now Master. Stop wasting time with us and join the younglings in the escape pods. There is still a chance to escape!"

Kein was amazed in himself. Never would he have imagined talking to his Master like that. Then the first Clone Troopers came pouring down the hallway, and blaster bolts started flying overhead. The radio went silent, and then Master Cil whispered, "Thank you child. Today… Today you are more of a master than I ever was."

The flood of confidence and pride that filled Kein's chest was like nothing he had ever felt before. He stood up behind the barricade, already knowing where and when the clones blaster shots would hit. His shots dropped four before they could react, and when they were distracted trying to hit the amazingly nimble junior Jedi who dodged their shots with an almost contemptuous ease, the rotary turret opened fire and tore their front line to shreds.

"17% charge!" Icarus called out, while his sister helped turn the turret. Their charge was dwindling.

Viis took control in an instant, firing dual blaster pistols at the remaining disorganized clones. They scattered and broke, only a handful of them still alive. He shot those who ran, until only the fortunate few made it out of the corridor. Then he set off to perform the finishing blows. He replenished his ammo from a now dead clone, and tossed a pair of blaster rifles back towards Kein. Then he called back to the youngest children, "When the turret runs dry, fall back. We'll be along shortly. Just try and get to the master!"

"We can still fight!" Anatas shouted, struggling to properly lift one of the blaster rifles. Tears streaked her face. If only she wasn't so young, maybe she could actually be useful. Her brother, Icarus, set a hand on her shoulder and gave her a reassuring hug. Still she cried.

"You heard him! You two need to support the master." Kein snarled, scaring them out of their sadness. Tears were no use in a battle. Realistically it was only a matter of time before a clone got lucky, and the six of them could only guard this hallway for so long before some real attackers arriv-

Viis had turned, and was smiling at his best friend. His hands were in his pockets. Behind him, a figure loomed, a gigantic figure in all black armor, cape fluttering on a nonexistent breeze. Clones were already crowding behind him, armed with the best weapons and marked with the helmet markings of elite Stormtroopers.

Viis never had to look behind him, he could feel the foul force radiating off of this repulsive individual. In the face of it, his own force powers sputtered out like a dying candle. For the first time in his life, he was without the warm fabric of the universe that had swaddled him even in the womb. It was a horrible feeling that had dropped Jedi Knights to their knees. "I knew you would come, devil. I knew you would come for me and my friends." The words were spoken in a hushed voice, as Darth Vader drew closer and closer.

Kein was standing, aiming his blaster rifle. Viis just smirked, his foolish friend never knew when to give up. "Darth Vader. My master told me about you. Have you come to kill more children like the coward you are?"

The walking giant said nothing, but the dark force around it swirled angrily. A tendril of darkness reached out and crushed Kein's gun before a shot could even be fired.

"Well. Let me make this easy for you." Viis pulled his hands out of his pockets, revealing a pair of thermal detonators stolen from the dead clones. They were set for timers, and he had been holding each long past that point. His fingers twitched, and the explosives in his hands set off a dozen more hidden in his pockets. The hallway collapsed, and burning sunlight poured in. A Nitrogen rich atmosphere started filling the room, breathable for a few minutes, but toxic for anything longer.

Though his force powers died with him, Viis had sent one last force impression to his friends. 'Run. Love. Hope.'

Then he was gone, and Kein was leading the others out of that room. He had to carry the warning that Darth Vader was in the building to the rest of the children. This might be their chance to escape! If they could just push through one of the weaker sections of the clone line, they could steal a dropship.

Icarus and Anatas were the first two out. Kein was following them when the last two followed. They had paused to grab their packs. Quor and Dusat. Both of them ran through the doorway as Kein activated the blast doors. But Quor hit the floor, as if grabbed by the ankle.

Grabbed by a crushing force.

Through the dust, Kein could see the sleek black form of Darth Vader. His hand was held out in a gripping motion, and Kein didn't need the force to see the ugly evil pressure wrapped around Quor's ankle. Quor and Dusat, friends from the same planet, poured their force abilities into breaking the monsters hold.

It was like stopping a waterfall one cup of water at a time. So Dusat slid his friend one last farewell. A sleek length of silver metal, the lightsaber they had built together out of cobbled scrap and an old half-broken crystal. It was a piece of garbage, that worked once in a blue moon and even then the blade sputtered and spat like a venomous snake. But they had made it together, and when Darth Vader dragged Quor into the hallway, the 13 year old flipped the switch, and a sickly yellow blade spun to life in his hands.

Dusat would have stayed to watch the fight, so Kein grabbed his shoulder and dragged him towards the exit. Icarus and Anatas were already through, running deeper into the facility. "Come on Dusat. Don't watch this! We need to keep moving or that monster will kill us all!"

"No. No. Quor can do it. He can win!" His fingers were clenched so tightly the blood ran down his palms and his hands couldn't stop shaking. Darth Vader effortlessly blocked, only for the crappy yellow lightsaber to phase through his blade. The emitter was too faulty to block!

"He can't Dusat! He can't! We need to leave!" Kein dragged again at Dusat's arm, but the boy wasn't moving. So with a sad look behind him, he left.

A mournful cry of sorrow and rage followed him down the hallway.

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Kein felt like a coward. He had abandoned his friends in that dark empty hallway. He had run from battle. What would Master Cil say in the afterlife? Was there even an afterlife?

These were the questions when Darth Vader himself had you trapped in a vicelike grip of Force power as he slowly crushed your windpipe. Around them, three more of the Padawans were held beneath the barrels of Stormtrooper Blaster rifles. This was it for them. The Executor loomed high in the sky, he could see it through the ceiling viewport of the main control room.

Being here only reinforced how large everything was. Darth Vader stood seven feet tall, which was just a number until you were actually looking up at that empty faceless mask. There were no words to describe such a monster. No Jedi could stand up to this rolling typhoon of evil power!

His ship was the same way. It hung high in the sky like an executioners axe. Kein understood in that moment that all of their battles until now… Were like a chicken flapping its wings before the axe took its head off.

Hopeless. Pointless. He wished he had been as brave as Viis and saved a thermal detonator for this moment. Dying on your own terms had to be better than this!

The world was turning dark and fuzzy, Kein tried to remember something that could help him hold on. But bit by bit, it all just slipped away. The only thing remaining was the Executor. Looming overhead.

And then it exploded.

20 kilometers of fleet-shredding firepower vaporized in an instant. The fiery red bloom looked like miniature suns were growing out of its side. Somehow, the sudden death of thousands of heartless enemies felt like a breath of fresh air. It was enough to shake out of Darth Vader's shattered grip. Watching your personal ship go up in flames could be a bit surprisingly apparently.

Kein hit the floor with a thud, his vision spotty from lack of air, his limbs shaking from the near death experience. But he yanked a short dagger out of his pocket and slammed it into Vader's exposed leg.

The blade chipped off that pristine black armor, and Vader never even noticed. Kein just stared at his broken knife, wondering what it took to kill this monster!

Spreading out of the explosion, a lone ship shot towards the base. BANG! The ship smashed into the viewport, plowing halfway through the roof. The door was blown off, and a man jumped out wearing the robes of a Jedi. "Ahh… See? I told you it would work."

His eyes turned towards Vader, and a single curious eyebrow was raised. "Hey Wa'hett. Look what we found."

A surprisingly nervous human, wearing the trappings of a Jedi Knight, hopped out of the ship. "You fly like a lunatic, you know that? An absolute psychopath. You are going to get all of us KILLED, in fact- Is that Darth Vader?"

A savage grin grew across the first man's face. As a Trandoshan, Kein wanted to learn that smile. He wanted it more than he wanted a lightsaber. "Wa'hett, fetch me my blade. I've got a tin can to open up!"

"For the last time, I'm not your damn valet!" Still, Wa'hett used his force abilities to bring the massive saber-sword out of the ship, and uncremoniously dropped it into the floor.

Mot Fesif laughed as he plucked the blade out of the ground. This was it. A fight worth existing for. The old goblin might have put up a fight, but this thing looked powerful! "So you're the one they call Darth Vader. Can't say I'm impressed. You look weak."

Kein's eyes bugged nearly out of his skull! Darth Vader?! Looked WEAK?! He could feel the evil energy growing out of that black suit off armor, and it was only getting larger, and angrier!

Wa'hett sighed, stepping back towards the shadows of the doorway. There were still children to rescue after all, and his companion was not one to care about collateral damage. With a twist of his palm the broken glass shards started to levitate. With a flick of his wrist, they cut a Stormtroopers neck.

Flick. Flick. Flick. Flick.

The younglings were watching in horrified awe, or awestruck horror, as they watched a Jedi so casually slaughter clones. Fesif and Vader never noticed any of this, because they were still eyeing each other like two wild dogs that couldn't tell which was the strongest.

Vader made the first move. He strode forward with a force empowered downward swing, which was only barely blocked by Fesif. Fesif blocked with the flat of his blade, diverting the strike to the side. The impact shook the ground beneath his feet.

Fesif struck back, kicking Vader in the middle of his chest to knock him of balance, then diving in with a sweeping slash. Vader was wobbled by the first blow, and blocked the second with a casual flick of his force powers, tossing Guts into the wall.

He came up snarling, blood flowing where the impact had cut him. "Now this is a fight!" He lunged at Vader, kicking off the wall for added impact. His downward swing was barely blocked, and stopping it knocked something loose in Vader's robotic hand. The hiss of broken hydraulics filled the otherwise silent battlefield.

Vader's hand. Because the other hand was waiting for the attack, and met Mot Fesif in the gut with a spine-rattling punch. He swung his ruby red blade in a decapitating stroke, something Guts barely dodged. Fesif left the immediate range, cutting down two surviving stormtroopers who thought they could interfere.

"I see. Robotics. You're a one trick pony, nothing without your metal limbs…" Vader shook out his right hand, knowing it would need calibration as soon as possible. Using a touch of that wickedly evil force, he plugged the leak by bending the metal back into place. A temporary measure at best, but if further debilitating strikes were avoided, it would work.

"And I see you, Dark Jedi. You wield the same evil power as I. We are alike." His broken hand curled into a fist, as the lightsaber floated into his left hand. A punch from those mechanical limbs might lack the cutting edge of a saber, but bludgeoning blows could kill just as easily.

"We are not the same. How many friends have you killed in your endless pursuit of power! I have earned this strength. I did not pile up the corpses of friends and loved ones in a single minded pursuit of strength!"

In Darth Vader's mind, memories crawled through the poisonous mist of the dark side. Memories of a woman. Memories of a father figure… With an unstable roar he attacked, slashing violently. Overwhelming force.

Guts easily dodged a brutal lightsaber slash, only to narrowly dodge a punch so violent that it buckled the steel wall behind him. Any counterattack he might have tried was lost in the nonstop pulse of evil force energy that poured forth from the berserking sith warrior.

So when Vader swung again, Mot Fesif dove to the left, scooping up a blaster rifle. The barrel was crumpled by the force before he could even aim with it, and Darth Vader bore down upon him with a lethal underhanded sweep. Through years of battle against far stronger beasts, Guts had learned one simple lesson. When you couldn't escape an overwhelming force…

You went through it.

He dove at Vader, punching with the hilt of his lightsaber. The punch cracked the chestplate of that ominous black armor, and the hiss of air inside told him that something had been broken by his impromptu tactic. Then he spun around his enemy, dodging a predictable punch and grabbing a handful of that rich black cloak.

From the back of the Sith Warrior, he yanked, dragging the cape hard against the neck of the armor. Vader stumbled, dropped to his knee, and in an impressive display of ability, kicked out with a single foot. Guts blocked the blow with the flat of his blade, but it still tossed him across the damn room again.

Sitting up, he spat blood through grinning teeth. This battle was making his blood boil! Unfortunately… Mistakes were made by the berserker. On his long dark cape, a small circular device slowly blinked.

Then an explosion swallowed Darth Vader, and in the same moment Guts ran towards it, attacking in a deadly lunge, blade held straight out. It was a lancer's charge, plain and simple, and between stopping the explosion and blocking the attack, something was bound to give way.

Darth Vader stopped the explosion the instant he felt it detonate. The armor stopped most of the blast, his force abilities mitigated the rest. It reminded him too much of that child from the entrance. Inside his chest, a painful rattling sound was echoing through his armor. This battle was starting to take it's toll.

The dust momentarily blinded him, but through thew force he could see his foe start to attack. Darth Vader prepared his blade in a parry, only to remember at the last moment… His foe was no Jedi. Mot Fesif drove his blade into the furthest point of Vader's own saber, creating a near-perfect fulcrum. His leverage, momentum, and mass drove down on that point, until Vader's left hand simply could not keep up. The hand broke, falling to the ground in tattered bits and pieces. Delicate instruments had allowed him to wield the blade with all of his old skill and more, and now they allowed the limb to shatter under such incredible force.

When the lightsaber fell, Guts struck, carving down into Darth Vader. The blade tore his left arm away, and he saw bits and pieces of flesh and blood mixed into that tattered slab of metal. "So you do have some real parts to you…" He mused amicably.

Darth Vader just screamed, a near feral roar of pain and anger that sent the full weight of the dark side shooting out like a concussion mine. It tossed Guts across the room and into the wall yet again, and sent the corpses of his loyal stormtroopers flying. Wa'hett managed to dampen the blow, protecting the four younglings he had rescued while the two goliaths fought each other to the death.

Then Darth Vader stood up. Blood flowing from his left arm, his right hand was forced open. The hydraulics were permanently destroyed, he moved the mangled limb solely with his powers in the force. He picked up his lightsaber, and strode back into combat.

Guts moved to attack, and was bashed aside with ease. The lightsaber wasn't even a blade anymore! The Dark side had curled about it like a snake, turning what had been an elegant blade into a club of pure energy. Guts tried, but he couldn't block something like that. His body hit the wall, and Darth Vader descended like an angry god.

"FOR VIIS!" A child's voice called, and Darth Vader experienced the joyous sensation of blaster fire tearing into his intestines. His mad yellow eyes turned to look at the child as blood filled his mask. The boy was only a teenager, yet he had seen the slight damage in Vader's suit where the force had not stopped the thermal detonator in time. A chip in the armor that gave way beneath Blaster fire.

Now his guts were burning, his powers failing, and his mind was growing foggy. Still, he drew the force into himself, intending for one last attack on the child who had killed him.

"Nice try asshole." Guts whispered, before he jammed a vibroknife through Vader's faceplate.

The Dark Lord of the Sith died choking on his own blood.

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"Disappointing." Palpatine muttered when the word reached him that Darth Vader had been slain. Still, this was a battle, and lives were often lost. His most promising apprentice dying was a shame, but it merely spoke to Vader's own failings. Perhaps his next apprentice would focus more on the possibilities of the Dark Side. Truly using it was more akin to art than science, and this Vader had always been a bit lacking in imagination.

He sent a message to his Chief of Scientific Research. 'Prepare subject SW-III. Operation Falling Star. Tell Holvis he has all the Funding he Requires for Project KALEESH. I want the first test subjects active in six months. Use the 501st survivors."

The loss of Vader may leave a power vacuum in the universe. The Jedi would grow cocky, and prideful. If he was to maintain his iron grip on the universe, he would need to act quickly. Still, if troops could be moralized so quickly… They could be broken just as easily.

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End file.
